


Bloody Wizarding Crackers, or The First Mrs. Norris.

by Ladderofyears



Series: Shipmas 2018 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Domestic Violence, Gen, Guilt, Murder, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 12:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Filch has just had to endure Christmas Dinner in the Great Hall. Enjoying a Firewhiskey afterwards, he reflects on the first Mrs. Norris.





	Bloody Wizarding Crackers, or The First Mrs. Norris.

**Author's Note:**

> My dad used to work as a caretaker, and in common with Filch, though that a school would be vastly improved with the absence of both teachers and students!
> 
> Filch is still pretty miserable in this story, but perhaps Christmas brings back memories he would rather forget?

The world, according to Filch, consisted of two quite distinct sets of people. There were those that existed solely to aggravate him, cause him trouble and annoy him. And then there were those who kept out of his way. 

Of course, the latter group was much smaller. He remembered his mum with some affection, but she’d passed on fifty-odd years before so he could hardly recall her face. A couple of the locals down at the Broomsticks could be relied upon for a pint or two, and perhaps Apollyon Pringle, his old boss. He’d taught him the ropes, shown him the old passageways. Taught him never to trust the bloody teachers, who didn’t know their arses from their magical bloody elbows. Taught him how to keep secrets. 

But most of the world was relegated to the status of Bloody Annoyance. Bloody Annoyances included all the spoilt brats that arrived, year upon year. Bright eyed, young, wet behind the ears and idiotic to a man. So full of magic that even he felt the walls of the Great Hall shiver with it, as that ruddy Hat made its yearly song and dance. So loud, those Bloody Annoyances. 

Their shrieking and shouting, their dammed potion spillages everywhere. Everyday meant more miscast spell damage, for him to clear up and any word of thanks? Not bloody likely. No, Argus knew he was invisible, like an elongated House Elf, visible only when he’s bollocking them and removing house points. Oh yes, he’s visible then. Argus can see how desperate they are to ask, to know if its true. That he can’t do magic. Sees the word squib in their knowing looks, in their smirking faces. 

Bloody Annoyances included Peeves, who had made it his particular mission to drive Argus from the Castle. Merlin only knew what deity Argus had angered to have that particular bastard riding his back for nearly forty years. But even the old caretaker understood that it had become a game between them, played so long that neither could function without the other ones hatred. 

And Bloody Annoyances included the teachers, always so full of their own importance, their new ideas. Each sweeping thought the Castle in a wave of robes; so proud, brimming with self-importance. Each unaware of the ways of Hogwarts schoolchildren until they’ve been broken down, worn through with the practical jokes, the cheek and the hard-faced lies they had to battle each day. Argus observes them all, all these Bloody Annoyances. The same faces, the same families, year upon year. Knows their secrets only the way a caretaker can. 

Christmas was, of course, is the part of the year Argus liked least. The trees, bigger and more impressive with each passing year only means more work when they’re taken down and packed away. The brats get louder and more hysterical as the days pass, gouging on chocolate and sweets. Any pretence of care, of work, is abandoned, and even the teachers observe the worst behaviour with dewy eyes and stupid grins. 

Christmas makes people into fools, and there's no bigger fools than all those Bloody Annoyances that haunt his days. He’ll endure the Christmas dinner, prim and proper in the Great Hall, because he hasn’t a choice. He’ll mind his language around those ruddy simpering House Elves. If people ask, he’ll tell them he stayed at Hogwarts for the Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers; that normally shuts them up. 

No, Christmas holds the status as the biggest Bloody Annoyance of the whole year. Keen to get away from that idiotic Headmistress, and those sad cases brats who hadn’t anywhere else to go, Argus leaves the Great Hall just as soon as he can. As big a Firewhiskey as he can endure is just what the Healer ordered.

At least down here in his office there’s some quiet. Some order. And Mrs. Norris. He pulls the cat onto his knee, taking in the warmth of her fur, her softness under his fingers. Argus cannot remember a time he didn’t have a Mrs. Norris. This particular one here is old now, and the caretaker isn’t certain she’s long for the world. 

She’d lived in Hogsmede, that first Mrs. Norris. 

Argus had seen her when he’d gone their for supplies. Argus thinks it must be thirty or more Christmases ago. Not long after he’d joined the staff. He remembers what a fool he’d been; still so impressed with all that bloody magic. Remembers the strings of lights outside her shop and the little tree stood in the corner. That Mrs. Norris had been young, skinny. Not long out of Hogwarts herself. Too shy even to look him in the eye. 

Her husband was a big brute of a man, one that reminded Argus too much of his dad on the drink. The sort of man that Argus made it his life's work to avoid. If Mrs. Norris’ fingers had touched his when she’d passed over those two Sickles change, that could hardly be his fault, surely? If he’d noticed those scattered bruises on her arms, well, that was her business. Not up to Argus to poke his nose in. Not up to him to get involved. 

The husband had marched in, looked Argus once over, and told him to kindly bugger off back to Hogwarts. He hadn’t needed to be told twice; he’d left and not looked back. Didn’t need that kind of Bloody Annoyance in his life. 

It wasn’t until days later that Argus had read about Mr. Norris in the Prophet. Mr. Norris who’d got life in a cell in Azkaban because he’d drowned his wife. Drowned her cat animagus when she tried to run away. 

When the Aurors came to ask, Argus kept his mouth shut. It was nothing to do with him. He hadn’t seen a thing. It wasn’t as Argus needed to feel guilty. 

Argus got his first cat the following January. Down in Diagon, in a filthy cage outside the Magical Menagerie. The staff there had laughed when he’d raged about the state she was kept in, told him to keep the squib cat if he cared that much. Argus was half way down the Alley when he realised that he still held her in his arms. And Argus was never without one after that. 

If he needed to keep them safe, protect them from wizards that couldn’t see just how important they were, that was his secret. 

If it was only he that could see their value in a world full of magic, well, nobody else needed to know. After all, he was good at keeping secrets. Squibby Argus and his mangy cats might have been a joke to the Bloody Annoyances up at the castle, but he knew the truth. If he didn’t love them, care for them and keep them close then they might come to harm. 

And he couldn’t possibly live with that on his conscience.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this really not very festive Christmas story. I promise that my next Shipmas tale will be much happier and more fluffy. Have a good day xxx


End file.
